


Enemies of the Heir

by renaissance



Series: you might belong in hufflepuff [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Prejudice, Children Swearing, Families of Choice, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Second Year, Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24806182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: As he faces his second year in Hufflepuff, Draco is torn between family loyalties and his growing affinity with his unfortunate house. But soon he has a bigger problem on his hands: there's this rumour going around about the Heir of Slytherin...
Series: you might belong in hufflepuff [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/998829
Comments: 27
Kudos: 110





	Enemies of the Heir

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the long time no update, life happened in a big (but good) way and on top of that i kind of forgot how to write fic for a few months. thanks, pandemic. but better late than never, right? i've been really chuffed by how many people vibed with the first part of this series - i hope you continue to enjoy this installment! who among us hasn't daydreamed about deradicalising draco malfoy at a tender age? this one goes out to all the draco apologists who've always known he has the potential for good in him.

Draco dismounted from his broomstick and tumbled onto the freshly-cut lawn at the front of Malfoy Manor. He must have been flying for hours. There was no greater reward, at the end of a year when Gryffindor won the House Cup and Potter and his friends got praised for some idiotic act of bravery. Draco was sick of the whole lot of them. He was more than glad to be home.

Not to mention that he had been sorted into the wrong house. He was trying not to think about that.

If he was being honest with himself, Hufflepuff wasn’t all that bad. The chairs in the common room were incredibly comfortable, and although Draco wasn’t surrounded by the people he’d thought he’d be, the reputable purebloods and the people who’d respect his name, he had managed to make two friends. Zacharias and Susan wanted to write to him over the summer, but Draco had advised them it would be better not to—his parents had not taken kindly their only son and heir being sorted into Hufflepuff, and Draco didn’t think they’d much like the idea of him having friends in Hufflepuff on top of that.

The Hufflepuff common room was always loud and bustling, and Draco’s housemates were excitable and chatty. Some quiet moments since he’d returned home, Draco almost felt lonely. He had to remind himself that he could never be lonely so long as he was where he was meant to be. A Malfoy, dressed in green rest robes, with no allegiances more important.

Inside Malfoy Manor, the temperature dropped, and Draco was keenly aware of the sweat on his skin. Hogwarts would certainly be more bearable this year; Draco was now old enough to try out for Quidditch, and he could think of nothing better, even if it was the Hufflepuff team. The practice he’d been doing all summer was half for his own amusement, half to ensure he made it onto the team.

He wandered down the halls towards his bedroom, slowing as he heard voices coming out of his father’s study. His father was talking to someone Draco didn’t recognise by voice alone, in low tones. Against his better judgement, Draco stopped to listen at the door.

“The time to act is now,” Draco’s father said. “If the rumours coming out of Hogwarts are true, then I cannot be seen to be doing nothing towards the Cause.”

Draco’s father often talked about the Cause, to the point that Draco had begun to write it with a capital initial in his head. He only understood vaguely what the Cause was—it had something to do with the Dark Lord, and the natural supremacy of pureblood families. But that war had ended not long after Draco was born, and nobody seemed willing to talk about it in any certain terms.

The other person spoke: “So you’re going ahead with _that_ plan?”

“The very same. I’ve delayed long enough. I will escort Draco to Diagon Alley myself, and if we happen to time our visit to coincide with the Weasleys’, then all the better.”

What did the Weasleys have to do with anything? They were blood traitors.

“Clever,” the other person said. “But you’re really going to let yourself be seen in public with the family shame?”

“If you say that one more time,” Draco’s father said, his voice heavy with menace, “I will see to it that you never work again, Rosier.”

Rosier laughed. “You can pretend all you like. We all know that your standing has slipped because of this. He’s a disgrace.”

It took Draco a moment longer to work out that _he_ was the disgrace. The first Malfoy to ever be sorted into Hufflepuff. The odd one out. The family shame. Something burst out inside of him, a strange concoction of fury and determination. The family shame. Draco would show them. He would show them all who was a _disgrace_.

He got to his feet to storm off, and ran straight into his mother. She bent down to look him in the eye; her smile took a while to come, but the warmth behind it was genuine.

“What are you doing down here, Draco?”

“I was just flying,” he said. He was pleased to hear that his voice came out steady, betraying none of the emotions left behind by what he’d just overheard.

“I’m glad you’re inside now,” his mother said. “I was about to look through some of the seed catalogues for this season. You can help me choose what we’ll plant in the west garden.”

She held out her hand, and Draco took it. Their steps echoed through the empty hallways and with every step further from his father’s office, Draco felt a little more grounded. For the first time all summer, he began to look forward to going back to Hogwarts.

* * *

Draco arrived at Platform 9¾ with his parents either side of him, flanking him like bodyguards. He didn’t need it, but it went some way to lifting his spirits. True to his father’s word to Rosier, he’d taken Draco to Diagon Alley to do his shopping for the year, and after that they’d even spent more time in the reading room together. This outing was another chance to let people see that, despite everything, Draco was still a Malfoy.

His parents stopped to talk to Pansy Parkinson’s parents. The Parkinsons were a good pureblood family, and Draco had seen a lot of Pansy as a child, but they had ceased to be close around the age of eight, when it suddenly became very gauche for boys and girls to talk to each other. Their parents had fallen apart for a time, too—Draco’s father often bemoaned how useless Octavian Parkinson was. And now, Pansy had established herself at Hogwarts as the future queen of Slytherin, and Draco was just some Hufflepuff. Pansy was smirking at him like she knew this, and wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Octavian,” Draco’s father said, “I’m glad to see you’ve been keeping well.”

“And you, Lucius,” said Octavian Parkinson. He cast a glance down at Draco. “I hadn’t thought to see you here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Only that you’re a very busy man.”

Draco was getting more adept at telling when adults didn’t mean what they were saying. Pansy was still making that face at him. He kept his chin up and his expression neutral and steadfastly pretended that this conversation was not happening.

His father was saying, “Indeed I am. But I think it’s most important to—”

“Draco!”

The Malfoys and the Parkinsons went very quiet and very still. Draco gritted his teeth. It was Justin—they weren’t even friends. Draco had only ever spoken to Justin out of necessity. Sure, they shared a dormitory, but Draco had done nothing to give Justin the impression that they were friends.

He clenched his jaw and ignored Justin.

His father cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I think it’s most important to make time for family. Don’t you agree?”

Then, as Octavian Parkinson nodded in agreement, Draco felt fingers close around his wrist, and before he registered whose fingers they were he was being dragged backwards. The adults and Pansy were staring at him in open shock.

“Draco,” Susan said, “what are you doing hanging around all these adults?”

“Get your things on the train,” said Zacharias, who was the one trying to drag Draco away. “At this rate we won’t get a compartment to ourselves.”

Susan nodded grimly. “We don’t want any Gryffindors hanging around us.”

They didn’t seem to notice that they were interrupting a very serious exchange of words between people who were much more important than them. Zacharias kept impatiently tugging at Draco’s wrist, and Susan was bouncing up and down on her heels.

Pansy broke the silence. “You mustn’t leave your friends waiting,” she said sweetly.

“They’re not my friends,” Draco said.

His parents weren’t looking at him; his father seemed to be engaged in an intense staring competition with Octavian Parkinson. Draco wrenched himself out of Zacharias’ grip.

“Father, mother,” he said, “I’ll write to you.”

“I look forward to it,” his mother said.

It sounded forced. Draco grabbed his suitcase and dashed.

“ _Not your friends_ ,” Zacharias mocked, as they boarded the Hogwarts Express. “It’s so sad that you have to pretend to be one of those sticks in the mud. Have you been like that all summer? Well, never mind. Now you can be yourself.”

“Be myself,” Draco said. “That’s funny.”

Susan punched him in the arm; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to annoy. “Don’t be so dramatic. Come on, you big wuss.”

“Everything is full,” Zacharias said. They’d gone the length of the carriage when the train whistle blew, signalling they’d be on their way. “Maybe we’ll at least find some Gryffindors to pick on.”

But the only Gryffindor they passed was Potter and Weasley’s friend, looking solicitous. “Have you seen Harry and Ron?” she asked Susan, who she seemed to know somehow.

“Sorry,” Susan said. “Say, you don’t happen to have a compartment we can join in on?”

“Of course,” the Gryffindor girl said.

“I’m not so sure about sitting with Gryffindors,” Zacharias said. “Draco?”

Draco thought about what Susan had said, that he was pretending to be someone else around his family. It was more like he was pretending to be someone else around the Hufflepuffs. The person they liked was the person he was pretending to be, and Draco didn’t want to risk losing that, not when he’d gone through so much to get to this point alone.

“Oh, what does it matter,” he said. “It’s just one train ride.”

* * *

After one painful week back at Hogwarts, a week of snickers every time Draco passed the Slytherin table and false pity from his Hufflepuff housemates, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team announced that it would be holding tryouts that weekend. Draco had read up on last year’s team: they were all still here, except last year’s captain, who’d since graduated. She was a Chaser, but she clearly hadn’t been a very good one, since Slytherin had won the Quidditch Cup. This year’s Captain was a Seeker, which was a pity, because Draco thought he might have done well in that role.

As it was, he was determined to be chosen as a Chaser. If he didn’t have Quidditch, then there may as well have been nothing here for him. Even if he had to play for Hufflepuff.

Zacharias was also trying out for the team, and so was Megan Jones, one of the second year girls who Draco had barely spoken to. The three of them made their way down to the pitch together after lunch. Draco and Megan both had their own brooms; Zacharias did not, but neither did it seem to bother him.

Megan had an excess of energy and all of it seemed to be directed towards Quidditch. “Who are your teams?” she asked them. “I’m going to play for the Harpies when I’m older. They’re all women, and I reckon if I can pretend I’m related to Gwenog Jones they’d let me join tomorrow.”

“Well, good for you,” Draco said. He was already sick of her. “I support the Falcons.”

“It’s the Tornados for me,” Zacharias said. “Maybe I’ll play professionally too.”

Draco liked Zacharias, but every second time he opened his mouth it seemed to be specifically to test Draco’s patience. “You can’t just decide that! Neither of you can. You’re not even on a Hogwarts team. And anyway it takes years of training. You might do your N.E.W.T.s and realise you’re better at something else.”

“You’re just jealous because you know the Falcons won’t want you,” Megan said.

Draco didn’t say anything for the rest of the walk.

As they approached the pitch, the team Captain approached them. Draco only knew he was the Captain because of the badge on his robes.

“Second years, are you?” he said. “That’s great! I tried out in second year too. It was terrifying. What are your names?”

Megan answered for all of them: “I’m Megan. The tall one is Zacharias, and the sulky one is Draco.”

“I’m not—”

“Good to meet you,” the Captain said, before Draco could finish his protest. “I’m Cedric. Now—Zacharias, is it? Come with me and we’ll get you a broom.”

“Thank you!” Zacharias said, an octave higher than his normal speaking voice. All of his usual bad temper disappeared in favour of staring starstruck up at Cedric. Draco couldn’t imagine why he was so excited. It wasn’t like Cedric was a professional Quidditch player or anything.

Still, Cedric was the one overseeing tryouts, and he would be choosing who made it onto the team. Draco wondered if Zacharias had the right idea, sucking up to him like that. Then again, why would it matter how he treated Cedric? Everyone knew that Draco was from one of the most important—if not _the_ most important—families in magical Britain. 

He and Megan made their way down to the pitch together. She was practically bouncing on her heels now; Draco could understand her excitement, but he knew better than to show it so conspicuously. He stood at a reasonable distance and kept his posture straight and waited to be given his turn to fly, and to show off his skills, and to be immediately invited to join the Quidditch team on account of how much better he flew than absolutely everyone else.

Zacharias joined him and Megan a few minutes later, clutching a broom to his chest but otherwise looking perfectly calm; now that Cedric wasn’t around, he had dropped the act.

“Nervous, Smith?” Draco teased.

“You wish,” Zacharias said. His grip on the broom relaxed.

There was a mix of other students there; the three of them were the only second years, but Draco presumed the others must have been from every other year. There were a _lot_ of them milling about. Surely they didn’t all think they’d get the last spot on the team?

Once everyone was gathered together, Cedric came out in front of them. Draco thought he might use a charm to amplify his voice, but he started talking naturally and his voice still managed to carry throughout the assembled crowd.

“Welcome,” he said grandly, “to the Hufflepuff Quidditch team’s annual tryouts!”

Everyone except Draco and Zacharias cheered. Draco looked to Zacharias expecting to find an ally in cynicism, but it wasn’t that: Zacharias’ nerves had come back. His knuckles were turning white.

“We’re going to start with some drills,” Cedric continued. “First, I’d like all of you to form a line. Once you’re in line, get on your brooms, and we’ll kick off one at a time to do some laps around the pitch.”

“That’s all?” Draco said, shuffling into line behind Megan but ahead of Zacharias. “Just laps?”

It wasn’t just laps, but it was a long time before Draco got a chance to do anything else—there were so many hopefuls assembled, and Cedric only let five of them go in the air at any one time, so the laps took forever. To Cedric’s credit, he watched each of them very keenly, but Draco thought he might have a thing or two to say to Cedric afterwards about the way he was running this. There were just too many people, and not all of them were very good at flying. Cedric shouldn’t just let any old Hufflepuff who could ride a broom show up. This was _serious_.

They moved onto tossing a Quaffle about. Draco paired up with Zacharias. Everyone was paired up, so Draco didn’t have to stand around and watch the others, some of whom could barely hold the Quaffle without dropping it, others who kept dodging the wrong way, some who were struggling to stay upright on their brooms. Not that he was paying attention to any of them.

After a few minutes, Cedric flew up to Draco and Zacharias, with a girl trailing behind him.

“You’re both doing very well,” Cedric said. Zacharias beamed back at him. “Why don’t the two of you split up? I’d like to see how you work with people you don’t know so well.”

Zacharias nodded eagerly, and Draco shot him a look. Zacharias was meant to be his ally. If Zacharias was going to desert Draco, then Draco would take matters into his own hands. He rounded on Cedric, indignant: “We’re doing well because we’re _good_ ,” he said. “Have you noticed that almost everyone else is ridiculously underqualified to be here?”

Cedric just laughed. “It’s not about being qualified,” he said. “Anyone can come along to these tryouts, even if they’ve never played on the team before. We spill every position except the Captain’s, so as many people as possible can come along and have some fun.”

The girl behind him nudged Cedric’s broom with hers. “Then at the end of the year, we vote on the next Captain.”

“I’m new to the role,” Cedric said, as though it were something to be proud of. “I like not knowing who it’ll be next year. The whole team could be different!”

“Next year, your whole dorm will be trying out,” the girl added.

Draco’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Surely this was against the rules? Once you were on the team, you ought to stay there, unless you were injured, or you suddenly became crap at it overnight—which shouldn’t be possible for anyone good enough to make it on the team in the first place.

“But what if you’re really good?” Zacharias asked.

“Then your performance in tryouts should reflect that,” Cedric said.

“That’s nonsense,” Draco snapped, recovering from his shock. “You can’t—it’s unfair!”

“Oh, I think it’s very fair,” Cedric said. Then, without another glance at Draco, he turned to Zacharias: “Why don’t you work with Heidi for a while?”

Zacharias’ eyes darted between Draco and Cedric and the girl—Heidi—before settling on Cedric at last. “Yes! Of course!”

“Draco,” Cedric said. “Come with me. I’ll find you someone else to work with.”

The fourth-year girl he found was alright, but not as good as Zacharias. Cedric flew around the crowd, swapping pairs and checking on everyone—checking to see if they were good enough for the team. After they were done with the tossing drills, Cedric had them batting bludgers between each other. This weeded out some of the worse players: in the carnage, a few of them incurred minor injuries. That meant there was a small audience assembled in the stands for the final test, as everyone took turns being Keeper while three others tried to score goals.

It was fun, the flying and the drills. Wasn’t that what Draco had wanted? Still, he left the tryouts feeling disheartened that it had been more a day out than a competitive event. While Zacharias hung back sucking up to Cedric, and Megan talked to a couple of the older girls, Draco stalked off on his own and went back to his dormitory to shut the curtains on his bed and be alone.

* * *

“Did you hear?” Susan asked.

Draco had heard. He had heard it so many times that if he heard one more time he would scream, propriety be damned. It was bad enough whenever he ended up sitting near Potter in Herbology—now he had to deal with the whole school talking about Potter, and how fantastic it was that The Boy Who Lived was now also The Boy Who’d Made It Onto His House Quidditch Team In Second Year. Apparently he’d also flown a car into a tree instead of arriving at Hogwarts by train like a normal person. Potter was a big deal, and it only made Draco more anxious to hear back about the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and whether he would be the talk of the school too.

They were sitting at breakfast. Draco was poking at his food; he didn’t have the appetite for it today. He said, “Yes, I heard.”

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Susan said. “I’m so proud of Zach.”

Draco looked up sharply. “You what?”

“Oh, so you _hadn’t_ heard. Why do you think he’s sitting with Cedric?”

She pointed down the table. Actually, Draco hadn’t even noticed—he just presumed Zacharias would come and go as he pleased. But there he was, with Cedric and Heidi and a whole group of older students, chatting like they were already fast friends. Maybe they were.

“Sorry you didn’t get onto the team, though,” Susan said.

This was really not how Draco had imagined finding out. Come to think of it, there had been something new pinned to the noticeboard in the common room that morning. He never stopped to read the notices. He ought to start paying more attention.

Their first class of the day was Potions. Draco and Zacharias usually worked together, but Draco was not in the mood to so much as look at Zacharias today, or maybe ever again. Susan worked with one of the Ravenclaw girls—Draco hadn’t bothered to ask her name—but she would certainly help Draco in his time of need. That’s what Hufflepuffs were supposed to do.

He and Susan walked to class together, and they arrived to find Zacharias waiting for them in the Potions corridor. There were a couple of others milling around. Draco noticed that Megan was standing quite far away from Zacharias. He wondered if he ought to join her.

“What kept you?” Zacharias said. “Remember the last time we were late and bloody Snape—”

“Oh, don’t talk to me,” Draco snapped.

Zacharias smiled cruelly. “You’re pissed off because I’m on the team and you’re not. Right?”

“Of course I am. I’ve been flying my whole life, and you only learnt a year ago, but here you are waltzing onto the team like it’s your birthright.”

“It’s not _not_ my birthright,” Zacharias said. “You just can’t handle the fact that I’m better at it than you are.”

“That is not true,” Draco said. Quite specifically, he couldn’t handle the fact that _some people_ thought Zacharias was better at Quidditch than he was. It was a blatant falsehood.

Susan chimed in: “Draco, you’re being unreasonable. It’s just Quidditch.”

“That’s fine for you to say. You didn’t try out.” He turned his back to the both of them. “Jones. Work with me today.”

“Then who’ll Wayne work with?” Megan said.

“I don’t care about Wayne,” Draco said. “Wayne can do what he pleases.”

Megan looked a little put out, but she conceded, “Fine, I’ll work with you. I hope you’re good.”

“Naturally.”

Unfortunately, Susan was still working with her Ravenclaw friend, so Draco and Megan ended up at a bench opposite Zacharias and Wayne. Megan worked quietly but proficiently, which suited Draco just fine. Wayne, however, was clinically useless at Potions, and Zacharias, who was average, and usually content to let Draco do most of the work, was having a very bad time. Zacharias and Wayne’s potion fizzled over the edge of their cauldron, and Zacharias swore loudly: “Oh, fuck off!”

Professor Snape swooped past their table. “Ten points from Hufflepuff, Smith. There will be no crude language in my classroom in the future, is that understood?”

Zacharias nodded. When Snape was gone, he whispered under his breath, “Fucking Snape.” He looked up and caught Draco’s eye, almost reflexively, like he wanted Draco to sympathise with his plight.

Draco turned his nose up and looked away.

“And fuck you too,” Zacharias said to him.

“Bloody hell,” Wayne said, “could you stop fucking swearing?”

If Potions was bad, it was only downhill from there. Draco spent the rest of the morning putting up with their new Defence teacher’s extravagance, and sitting with Megan meant that he was also sitting with Wayne a lot, who was still annoyed at Draco for making him work with Zacharias in Potions. By the afternoon, Wayne had replaced Draco at Zacharias and Susan’s end of the dining table, and Draco and Megan were sitting with Ernie, Hannah, and the mudblood, Justin.

“I, for one, think you’re quite right to be annoyed,” Ernie said. “Zacharias does nothing but posture. It seems unfair that he should be allowed onto the team with that attitude.”

“He’s not very nice to us,” Hannah said, softly, like it was a great confession. “I like Susan, but I don’t know how she puts up with him.”

The key difference between Draco and Zacharias, Draco realised, was that he knew when to play nice to keep things moving smoothly. Zacharias had not worked that out, while Draco was beginning to blend in very well indeed.

Draco put a hand to his chest. “I wish I’d realised his true nature sooner.”

“I don’t think you’re much better,” Megan said, but nobody paid attention to her.

Draco’s disguise was working.

* * *

Draco settled into a routine, and if his routine was specifically structured so that he was only hanging around the common room when Zacharias was at Quidditch practice, then that was nobody’s business but his own. The rest of the time, he started hanging around in the Library. Ernie went there a lot to study, which was probably because he was not very smart, and needed to work particularly hard to compensate for it—but he had the right idea. You could disappear in the Library: it was as labyrinthine as parts of Malfoy Manor.

Tonight—Halloween—he and Ernie were the only ones there. Gone were the days of Draco’s so-called “friends” forcing him to sit through a feast. If he wanted to be alone, that was his right. As for Ernie, Draco didn’t know what _he_ was doing there. _Ernie_ didn’t want people to think he was better than them and above all the nonsense and ceremony of a feast.

Ernie had one redeeming feature, which was that Draco seemed to be the only person in the world who he didn’t feel compelled to prattle on to. Their mutual distaste for one another meant that all of the rambling and hot air was never extended to Draco. Which, ironically, made Ernie quite good company.

They were sitting in silence when a shout out through the echoey library: “Students, to your dorms! The library is closing!”

Draco looked up from his book, and wasn’t surprised to see that Ernie was already on his feet. “I suppose we had better go…” he said.

“Quite right,” Ernie said. “You don’t want to be caught in detention.”

Loathe as he was to agree with Ernie, Draco recognised the sense in it. He packed up his bags and trailed behind Ernie as they left the library, along with a handful of other students—Draco recognised one of them as the Ravenclaw girl who sat with Susan in Potions. Ernie caught up with her, and they chatted as they approached the end of the corridor, where their paths would diverge: Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were on opposite ends of the castle, a dungeon and a tower.

Except nobody else was splitting off. There were students running down the nearest staircase, to a commotion on one of the lower floors.

“We shouldn’t get involved,” Ernie said.

“We have to go down there anyway,” Draco pointed out.

The Ravenclaw girl was already running ahead. “I’ll race you!”

“Su, wait,” Ernie called after her, dismayed. Draco followed, and overtook them both soon enough, jumping down two steps at a time until he was part of the crowd, flooding down from empty classrooms and up from the Great Hall towards the second floor.

Draco, as much as he would never admit it, was short. He was twelve, so he imagined he could be forgiven for this unfortunate character flaw. He would be tall one day, he knew for certain. Like his father. Until that day, he would have to stand on his toes and peer over the shoulders of older students.

There was a message on the wall outside the girls’ bathroom: _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware._ It looked like the words had been painted in blood.

Su and Ernie had caught up with Draco. Also standing on his toes, Ernie said, “What do you suppose that means?”

“That’s twisted,” Su said. “You’d have to be a real creep to write something like that.”

They didn’t get a very good look, or for very long. The Headmaster arrived, and Snape began to shoo everyone away. As they were leaving, Draco saw Potter and his friends trailing behind the Headmaster. Draco hoped they got in real trouble, even if he secretly didn’t think any of them had the brains to pull a prank like this. Maybe that would put a dent in Perfect Potter’s popularity.

On the way back to the dorm, Draco and Ernie ended up walking a few paces behind Zacharias, who was with his Quidditch team friends.

“Enemies of the _heir_ ,” Zacharias said, mocking. “How pretentious can you be?”

His friends laughed, and the sound made Draco want to vomit. What did Zacharias know about anything? Depending on who this heir’s enemies were… well, it was a good thing to be the heir to something great. Nobody from a bad family ever called themselves an heir.

Could it be, Draco wondered? The Heir of Slytherin?

He lay awake most of the night thinking about it. Draco didn’t know the full story, but his father had talked about it in the past: there had been an incident at Hogwarts long before his father had attended, where a student had been expelled for murder. It had to do with some kind of chamber, he recalled. A secret place that Salazar Slytherin had built many aeons ago. A place only Slytherins knew about—Slytherins and people who had been raised by them.

The next morning, Draco woke from fitful sleep to the sound of the rest of the dorm getting ready. He showered and dressed quickly, and went straight to the common room, where he found Ernie in an armchair, reading the financial section of yesterday’s _Prophet_.

“Come on,” Draco said. “We’re going to the library.”

“What?”

“You’re good at research, aren’t you?”

Ernie nodded. “But I’m reading, Draco.”

“Well that doesn’t matter,” Draco said. “Bring it with you. I need you to find a book for me.”

Sensibly, Ernie must have realised that there was no point resisting; he folded his newspaper and stuck it under his arm as they made their way up to the library. Draco had Ernie direct him to the sections on pureblood history and Hogwarts itself, and between them they grabbed half a dozen books.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” Ernie asked.

Draco thought he was asking a little too much, but he must have been in a charitable mood that morning. Maybe it was the excitement of something new. “I’m looking for anything on the Chamber of Secrets,” he said. He paused. “Or the heir.”

Ernie came very near to rolling his eyes, before catching himself. “We don’t even know what they’re the heir of.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Draco said. “You’re the heir of a great house, aren’t you?”

“As well you know.”

“Then you know what kinds of heirs to look for.”

Ernie hesitated, before opening _The Great Families of British Wizardry and their Years at Hogwarts_. That proved it, Draco thought to himself. Even these purebloods who claimed to love Muggleborns still knew the truth at heart: that they were, simply put, better than all that.

Draco got to work on the first book in his pile, _Architectural Anomalies: the History of Wizarding Britain’s Best-Kept Secrets_. He had made sure they picked a variety of texts; he didn’t want to tell Ernie it was about Slytherin just yet. Draco needed Ernie’s help to get through all of this, and he knew all too well what Ernie thought of his affinity for Slytherin.

But Ernie was a pureblood, and in time he’d understand: for purebloods like Draco, Slytherin was where they were meant to be.

* * *

It took a morning in the library, but Draco—with Ernie’s help—found what he needed. He was now certain that the Chamber of Secrets belonged to the Heir of Slytherin, and that this was his big moment. This was how Draco was going to get back in good favour with the Slytherins.

He lingered outside the Great Hall that evening, hanging towards the end of the corridor that led up from the dungeons. Draco only moved when he heard Slytherin voices drifting towards him—he knew they were Slytherins, because they were laughing about Filch’s cat being petrified. No Hufflepuff would find that funny.

Draco walked a few steps towards the entrance to the Hall, so it seemed like he’d been walking already, and then paused when he heard the Slytherins turn the corner.

It was Theodore Nott, and he was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Draco curled his hands into fists. For the most part, he had accepted that he was stuck in Hufflepuff—but he wasn’t _a_ Hufflepuff, and it was times like this he was really reminded of it.

“Nott,” he said, recognising a ringleader when he saw one.

There was a pause, before Nott said: “Malfoy…”

“I suppose you’re all excited by it,” Draco said, and waited for Nott to say _by what?_ But he didn’t, so Draco finished his thought: “The Chamber being opened.”

Nott raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Of course,” Draco said. He darted his eyes towards the Great Hall. “Don’t go spreading it around, will you? But I’m the one who opened it. The _Heir_.”

There was another long silence. Crabbe and Goyle looked receptive—even Nott—but then Nott burst into laughter. Draco felt like the floor had opened up beneath him.

“You?” Nott said. “The Heir of Slytherin? Don’t pretend, Malfoy. You’re not even the heir of a loyal follower.”

“What do you mean by that?” Draco demanded. He wouldn’t stand for any slander against his family.

But Nott only kept laughing. Draco could only watch as the three Slytherins, who by all rights should’ve been his closest allies, breezed past him into the Great Hall. Draco stood outside a moment longer, trying to steady his breathing. He was humiliated. This was supposed to be his place in the world. Instead, it had become his enemy.

Well, fine. Draco was in Hufflepuff. He could get the Hufflepuffs to respect him.

He stormed past the Slytherin table; Nott was holding court with a group of Slytherins, whose eyes followed Draco across the Great Hall, whose hands covered their mouths as they snickered at him. Draco did his best to ignore them, and found a space next to Megan at the Hufflepuff table.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” she said.

“You have no right to speak to me like that,” Draco said. He picked up a fork and knocked the bottom of it against the table. “ _I_ am the Heir of Slytherin!”

His proclamation was met with a confused silence. Ernie broke it, saying, “Is this what you were pestering me about this morning?”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Megan said pointedly, and turned back to Hannah as if Draco weren’t there.

Draco reached across the table and stabbed his fork into a potato, pretending it was Theodore Nott’s stupid face, Ernie’s patronising grimace, Megan’s rolling eyes.

He’d show the lot of them.

* * *

It was the first Hufflepuff Quidditch match of the year. They were playing Ravenclaw; the students of Hogwarts flowed down the lawn to the Quidditch pitch in currents of yellow and blue.

Draco was lying in his bed, curtains drawn.

He had scrunched up a bit of parchment—a scrapped draft essay—into a wad, and tossed it up towards the ceiling, trying to catch it before it hit him in the face on the way down. He was good at throwing. Good at catching. He could’ve been on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. What did Cedric know? What made Zacharias any better at this than Draco?

Draco’s concentration slipped; the wad of parchment landed on his chin and rolled onto the bed beside him. He couldn’t lie here doing nothing all day. Maybe he’d go to the library. It was sure to be empty with a match on—at best, there’d be some Gryffindors he could pick on. At worst, he might run into a Slytherin. Draco had been avoiding them since his bungle with Nott the other day.

Sighing, he sat up, and pulled back the curtains to climb out of bed.

He wasn’t alone. To his surprise, there was Justin, sitting on his bed with a book, the curtains drawn open. They made eye contact, and Justin waved.

“I wondered when you were going to emerge,” Justin said, amused.

“Why aren’t you at the game?” Draco asked. He wasn’t going to let a mudblood make fun of him.

“I told everyone I was sick,” Justin said. Sheepishly, he added, “Actually, I’m afraid of heights. Just the thought of it makes me dizzy.”

Draco tried to think back to whether he’d ever seen Justin at flying lessons last year. He couldn’t say; he’d never paid much attention to Justin at all—as was right, given his blood status.

“I faked sick for all the lessons,” Justin said, almost showing off, “until they gave up on me. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What about you? Why aren’t you there?”

Draco stood for a moment with his arms folded before answering. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t spend time around Smith anymore. That extends to watching him play Quidditch.”

“Oh. You’re mad that he’s on the team and you’re not.”

“No,” Draco said—too quickly.

“Want to do something else instead?” Justin asked. “We could play Wizard’s Chess! Hannah’s been teaching me. Did you know that the…”

He trailed off. Draco glowered at him.

Justin looked away, embarrassed. “Of course you knew.”

“I don’t want to play, anyway,” Draco said. It was a half-truth: he missed Wizard’s Chess desperately; Susan and Zach only ever played the Muggle version. Not that he was talking to them. But he didn’t want to play with _Justin_.

Draco turned and left the dorm, before Justin could so much as finish saying “See you later.” Draco wasn’t an idiot—he knew what hurt sounded like, and it sounded a lot like he’d hurt Justin. Not that Draco cared about hurting a mudblood’s feelings.

He was already on rocky grounds with his family, with the Slytherins. Best not to tempt fate any further.

He would be happier alone.

* * *

Draco was passing through the common room, rushing to get to breakfast early—before any Slytherins were around to make fun of him. He had wanted the rumour to spread, but he had thought it would be a _good_ thing. It _was_ a good thing, to be the Heir of Slytherin. It was just that none of the Slytherins seemed to like the idea of it being him.

Unfortunately, the Hufflepuff common room wasn’t free of hazards either. Draco passed the Quidditch team, sitting around a strategy chart. Zacharias and his new friends, who should have been _Draco’s_ —well, no, he didn’t want any friends in Hufflepuff. Zacharias and a group of horrible, boring people.

Draco slowed down when he heard what they were talking about.

“I’m pants at duelling,” Heidi was saying, sitting up from where her head was resting on another girl’s shoulder. “My hexes are the worst… still, it could be fun.”

“You’ll get better!” Cedric reassured her, in that annoyingly cheery Hufflepuff manner of his. “Any other takers?”

“I’m going, of course,” Zacharias said. “I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to show some Gryffindors who’s—”

After that, Draco was too far to hear anything more. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d overheard. There was some kind of duelling event? A tourney? Draco couldn’t imagine second years would even be allowed to go. Cedric probably told Zacharias that was the case after Draco had left.

This thought kept Draco content all through breakfast, and through his first classes of the day. It was only on the way to lunch that he heard people talking about a Duelling Club hosted by Professor Lockhart. Draco thought Lockhart was brilliant, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Only _girls_ liked Lockhart. Only mudbloods like Justin were impressed by him.

And the Duelling Club was open to everyone.

“Well, that settles it,” he told Megan over lunch. “I’m going. Smith thinks he can duel better than me? I’ll show him.”

“I don’t think he said that,” Megan said; Draco waved her off.

“He thinks he’s better than me. I’ve been around powerful magic all my life. I don’t doubt I can duel better than half the school. Jones, you’re coming too?”

“I was going to—”

“Good,” Draco said. “I’ll need a second. And Hopkins can be _your_ second,” he added, pointing, “if you want to duel too.”

Before Wayne got a chance to protest—it looked like he wanted to—Draco turned on Ernie, Hannah, and Justin, who were sitting to his other side.

“Are you coming? Every duellist needs supporters. I’m going to take on Smith.”

“He doesn’t know yet,” Megan added unhelpfully.

“I’ll give it a miss,” Hannah said. Her usual smile flagged. “I’m doing so badly in Defence… Professor Lockhart is so kind to me but I can tell he’s just pretending…”

Ernie said, “Now, now, Hannah,” and then he was off giving her a reassuring speech. Draco was about to give up on them and turn away, when Justin piped up: “I’ll come!”

Draco gave him an incredulous look. He hoped Justin didn’t have any big ideas about getting to duel—there was no way he could hold his own, let alone last a minute on the sidelines without a stray curse taking him. But Justin only smiled at him, no trace of the hurt from their last encounter.

After lunch, Draco caught Justin in a moment alone. He tried to put it nicely: “ _You’re_ coming to the Duelling Club? Really?”

Justin grinned; he had a glint in his eye. “Fear of flying doesn’t mean fear of fighting, Malfoy.”

So it was the four of them who set out to the Duelling Club, joining a crowd amassed in the Great Hall. It seemed like half of Hogwarts had turned out to learn how to duel from Lockhart, who was up on a stage in front of everyone with Professor Snape assisting him. It was bad enough having to deal with Snape in Potions. Draco was still residually furious at Snape for refusing to back him when he was sorted into Hufflepuff. Seeing him here was almost enough to ruin Draco’s evening.

Perhaps it was the way Draco was glaring at Snape—the Professor came around to put them in pairs, and had Megan working with Wayne, and Draco with Justin. This wasn’t at all what Draco had imagined. When would he get a chance to face Zacharias? He was nearby; Snape had paired him with some boy in Ravenclaw blue. Why couldn’t Draco have been paired with a nobody Ravenclaw?

Justin was excited to duel, but Draco’s heart was no longer in it. He could barely bring himself to try to disarm Justin’s jinx, which, predictably, did not hit him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Justin asked, frowning. “You were all fired up over this.”

Draco looked over to where Zacharias was duelling the Ravenclaw. They looked like they were having fun. Zacharias certainly wasn’t paying any attention to what Draco was doing.

He sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

Draco did make a half-hearted attempt at duelling with Justin, but he couldn’t maintain any enthusiasm for long. This wasn’t a club at all. It was just like being in class. Draco wished he was back in his bed with the curtains drawn—his favourite place to be these days.

Eventually, Justin grew bored too. “I’m going to see what Potter’s doing. Do you want to come?”

“Why would I care about _him_ ,” Draco snapped.

“Looks like he’s losing,” Justin said, one eyebrow raised. He pointed behind Draco’s shoulder.

Draco turned around too fast, and he could hear Justin laughing at him as he followed, but Draco didn’t care. Justin was right: a crowd had formed around Potter. Snape had pitted him against a bigger, tougher boy, a Slytherin. Did that mean that Snape hated Potter too? Did that make Potter and Draco allies? Or Snape and Draco? He couldn’t puzzle it out. Either way, Lockhart seemed to think it was a grand idea.

“Just as I would expect from Harry Potter!” Lockhard proclaimed loudly, as Potter clipped the older boy with a jinx. “Watch how he—”

“ _Serpensortia_!”

The Slytherin boy must have known Potter was clearly out of his depth, and Draco would bet he knew Snape wouldn’t give him detention for that spell, either. Snakes shot out from the tip of his wand and made for Potter, as the crowd around them shrieked and withdrew. Justin went against the flow: he stepped forward, and pulled Draco with him.

“I hate snakes,” Justin whispered. “Daddy bought one for the conservatory when I was six. It gave me the willies. We had it donated to a zoo. But—I can’t let myself be afraid of everything.”

Draco wasn’t paying attention. The snakes were out of control, and maybe a bit of fear wouldn’t have been a bad idea in this situation. Snape and Lockhart were running around, trying to catch them, but they couldn’t be everywhere at once. A snake was coming straight for Draco and Justin. Draco shook Justin off, and stepped back. Justin remained rooted to the spot. Terrified.

Potter turned towards them, and flung out a hand. For a moment Draco thought he was going to try something stupid, like jumping in the path of the snake. But then he opened his mouth and did something even more stupid: he spoke Parseltongue.

The Hall went silent. Now everyone was watching, or standing on their toes to try to, as the snake looked up at Potter and obeyed whatever command he had given. It lowered its front and slithered benignly into the crowd.

“Would somebody catch that snake?” Lockhart said, but nobody moved. There were whispers spreading through the crowd like ripples in a pond, fanning out as more people realised what had happened.

What cancelled out a bad rumour? Another bigger, badder rumour.

Draco cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted: “Maybe he’s the Heir of Slytherin!”

He was ready to laugh, but nobody seemed to find it funny. Someone nearby whispered, “He probably is…”

Justin had turned around now, his back to Potter. His face was white as a sheet, and his hands were clasped in front of him, his fingers twisting around each other in a snake pit of nerves. He opened his mouth to say something—was he going to ask Draco what had happened? Because of course Justin wouldn’t know. Draco didn’t want to hang around to find out. He turned too, and ducked out of the crowd.

Draco was elated, bouncing on his heels. He had been able to shift the blame onto Potter—really, Potter had done most of the work himself, but Draco would take all of the credit. Duelling Smith could wait. Draco had achieved a victory without him.

* * *

Perhaps he’d spoken too soon.

The next morning at breakfast, Draco kept an ear out for people talking about the Heir of Slytherin. There was a group of Hufflepuffs who were dead certain it was Harry; some Gryffindors who thought it had been a Slytherin set-up to take the heat off Draco—he didn’t know whether to be happy or frustrated that it was the _Gryffindors_ , of all people, who still considered him a Slytherin. Some Ravenclaws, one table over, didn’t know who to believe.

“On the one hand,” said the boy Zacharias had been duelling, “the Malfoy rumour has longevity on its side. But Michael swears blind he heard Potter speaking Parseltongue.”

“I thought you were there?” a girl asked him.

“I was stuck at the other side of the Hall,” the boy said. “But I place a high degree of trust in Michael’s evidence, so on balance of probability I think we can safely say Potter is the heir. Besides, Zach says Malfoy is—”

Draco very deliberately stopped listening. Potter speaking Parseltongue should have been a gift, but people were _still_ gossipping about Draco. Every single thing he’d done to win back favour with the Slytherins had backfired on him. He was lonely and unpopular and he was downright miserable.

At least when he’d been on speaking terms with Zacharias and Susan, he’d been happy.

Draco chanced a look down the table. Zacharias and Susan were sitting with each other; she whispered something in his ear, and they both laughed. Draco looked away.

One small mercy: he wouldn’t have to confront them in class. It was snowing heavily, and Herbology was cancelled. That was almost a pity, because Draco might have liked to confront Potter and ask if he really _was_ the Heir of Slytherin. Still, having the morning off was so pleasant that Draco skipped all his other classes that day. He wandered the castle, keeping away from classes and teachers—but even if he had got in trouble, he wouldn’t have minded. Detention would’ve been better than this.

Hogwarts really was beautiful in the snow. Draco tried very hard to feel like he was lucky to be there.

His long day of walking ended in the afternoon when a shout rang down the corridors. Draco was immediately on edge. Was it the Heir of Slytherin? Or just the snake that escaped from the Duelling Club? Either way, Draco wanted to be there to see it. His life of isolation would wait.

There was a crowd gathered already. Sound travelled fast through these halls. Draco stood on his toes, but he still couldn’t see what had happened. He did hear Ernie, though: “Caught in the act!”

“That will do, Macmillan!” said an older voice—Draco thought it was Professor McGonagall, and let out a laugh. But he was abruptly silenced by a glare from someone taller, who could see what was actually happening.

The crowd parted, and Draco saw why everyone had gathered: the Heir of Slytherin had returned, and this time it was not just a cat who had been attacked. It was a ghost—the Gryffindor one, Draco thought—and it was Justin, standing there as still as a statue.

Suddenly Draco felt very, very small. He remembered the look on Justin’s face at the Duelling Club, when Potter had spoken to the snake. That was the last time they’d seen each other, and Draco had turned around, hadn’t even pretended to comfort him. Because, of course, Justin wasn’t supposed to matter to him at all. He was a mudblood Hufflepuff. He was an enemy of the Heir, and Draco and the Heir were on the same side. There was no reason for Draco to be standing here feeling like this was all his fault.

Draco was snapped from his reverie by a Ravenclaw pointing at him and calling out: “There he is, the self-proclaimed Heir of Slytherin! Going after his own housemates now, is he?”

* * *

Justin wasn’t dead. Draco had to remind himself of this regularly. He was petrified, and Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout were working on a remedy. Everything would be back to normal. But what Draco wouldn’t have given for him to be here now, a buffer zone between him and Zacharias. They were the only two staying the holidays—Ernie and Wayne had both gone home to their families—and they were still not on speaking terms.

Zacharias went out flying a lot, mostly on his own. Sometimes Draco saw him out the window when he was hanging around in the library, or caught him tracking snow back into the dorm when Draco was pretending not to pay attention. Not this afternoon, though. The snow was so heavy that Zacharias had elected to stay in, sitting in bed with his curtains open, reading.

Draco lasted half an hour before his frustration overtook him. He climbed out of his bed and snapped at Zacharias: “Why don’t you go to the common room?”

“Why don’t _you_?” Zacharias shot back.

“Because I’m not—”

— _one of them_ , Draco thought. Angrily, he grabbed his scarf—the one Susan’s aunt had given him a year ago—and stormed out of the dorm.

The common room was near-empty; only two students sat working by the fire. Draco wouldn’t mind sitting there and warming himself, but he was restless and he didn’t want to sit in one place. He walked out past the kitchens, into the corridors, up a staircase.

His feet carried him to the Hospital Wing; before he could think to question it, he was knocking at the door.

When Madam Pomfrey saw Draco, her eyes narrowed. He put on a brave face, and cleared his throat. “Er, may I visit Justin? I’m one of his dormmates.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s been going around saying that he’s the Heir of Slytherin?”

The way Madam Pomfrey asked indicated she already knew the answer. So even the adults believed his stupid rumour.

“That’s irrelevant,” Draco began. “I just want to—”

Madam Pomfrey laughed, and stepped aside. Draco was almost disappointed. She hadn’t given him a chance to explain himself.

The Hospital Wing was empty, except for a bed by the far window with a screen pulled around it. Madam Pomfrey pulled back the screen just enough to let Draco take the chair by the bed, and then she left him alone. Draco couldn’t say why he waited for her footsteps to recede before he found himself able to face Justin.

Justin didn’t look tired, nor dead, nor any of the things Draco had been raised to expect from petrification; he was just frozen in a moment of surprise, eyes open and mouth slightly parted.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Draco said. Stupid. Justin couldn’t hear him. But he kept going: “I thought you were just scared of the snake, or… I don’t know, I didn’t really think Potter was, or that he would… but it wasn’t _me_.”

And then it all came spilling out.

“I never fit in here and now everyone knows it. I only started the rumour because I wanted someone— _anyone_ in Slytherin to talk to me again. Because I was so angry at Smith for getting onto the Quidditch team… he thinks he’s so cool because he learnt to swear over summer, he thinks he’s better than me. But when I stopped talking to _him_ , and to Bones, I lost everything that made me happy to be in Hufflepuff. And I hated that people like you were the only people who would talk to me. So I told Nott that I’m… but I’m not, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do this to you. And I don’t understand that, because I’m supposed to hate you, but I just feel bad for you. I don’t understand!”

Draco took a slow, shuddering breath. He was going to cry. He was _not_ going to cry.

“Why am I telling you this?” Justin’s gently surprised expression did not change. “You’re just a—you’re just—”

The chair clattered to the floor behind Draco as he stood and, wiping at his eyes, ran out of the Hospital Wing.

* * *

As the holidays wore on, the snow eased up, giving way to a string of dreary, rainy days. Draco hadn’t been back to the Hospital Wing. It was becoming increasingly hard for him to avoid Zacharias. With the rain, Zacharias was growing restless about flying: he had taken to keeping the broom he borrowed from the school in bed with him.

The last night before Ernie and Wayne were to return, it was storming outside. Draco was sitting alone in the dorm, enjoying having the space to himself, when Zacharias came up from the common room. Draco got up to shut his curtains, but Zacharias stopped him, and sat on the bed next to Draco, his arms folded.

For a long moment they were both silent, glaring at each other.

“What do you want?” Draco asked at last.

“I’m fucking bored,” Zacharias said. “Pathetic, isn’t it, staying here over Christmas?”

It was that or having to deal with being the _family shame_ , Draco thought. But Zacharias always stayed over the holidays.

“Why didn’t you go home, then?”

“I hate my family,” Zacharias said, like it was nothing.

“What’s the matter with them?” Draco said acidly. “Did they also want you to be in another house?”

“No,” Zacharias said. He scowled. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m right where I fucking belong.”

“Would you stop swearing?” Draco snapped.

Zacharias rolled his eyes, and stood. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Draco watched him clamber onto his bed and pull the curtains shut, and scrambled to do the same. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be much easier for me to avoid you soon enough.”

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he dimly recognised that he had missed a trick. Zacharias was one of the only people who had ever _understood_ Draco, but Zacharias himself was consistently an enigma. What did it mean that Draco wanted to return the favour? Didn’t Zacharias know that it felt good to be understood?

Draco snapped his curtains closed with a flourish. He would get over it.

* * *

Draco was not over it. In his defence, the entire school hadn’t got over _him_ : though most people now agreed that Potter was the Heir of Slytherin, Draco’s claim to the throne was still a regular topic of conversation. And after what had happened with Justin, the other Hufflepuffs were back to being frosty towards him. So when he passed Pansy and Blaise Zabini in the corridor, Draco saw a window of opportunity. One last attempt at reaching out to the Slytherins.

If everyone was going to keep acting like he was the Heir, then Draco thought he might as well embrace it.

“Malfoy,” Pansy said.

“Parkinson,” he said. “Zabini.”

“Are you lost?” Blaise asked rudely.

“Listen,” Draco said, ignoring him, “you two don’t really believe that Potter’s the Heir, do you?”

Pansy shrugged. “I believe it more than I believe you are. At least he speaks Parseltongue.”

“I could learn it easily,” Draco said, puffing up his chest. “I have more Slytherin blood in me than that Gryffindor fool.”

“You’re a pureblood,” Blaise agreed, “but the colour of your house isn’t something that runs in your blood, otherwise we’d _all_ be Gryffindor fools”

“Plenty of purebloods are in other houses,” Pansy said, tittering. “The Weasleys, for one…”

“The Macmillans and the Abbotts,” Blaise added. “In your own house, Malfoy!”

“Don’t take it personally,” Pansy said, suddenly serious. “You’re still from one of the best families there is.” She looked over her shoulder, as though she was checking for eavesdroppers. “And we know you’re still one of _us_.”

Blaise nodded. “But everyone says it’s only a matter of time before you become a blood traitor.”

“Potter used to be a pureblood surname,” Pansy said. “Now look at what happened. The last one married a mudblood and got himself killed.”

“Makes you think,” Blaise said.

Draco glowered at them. He wasn’t going to stand here and let himself be taunted. “Are you quite finished?”

They both laughed, but they cut off as hurried footsteps rang through the corridor, someone running from the way Draco had come.

“Look, there he is!” Pansy said.

“Together at last,” Blaise said. “The two Heirs of Slytherin.”

Draco didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Potter.

“Don’t waste your time on us, Malfoy,” Pansy said, and then she and Blaise were gone, laughing again.

Draco watched them leave, glaring at their backs—meanwhile Potter had slowed down, and came to stand beside Draco. 

“What do you want, Potter?”

There was a moment’s pause; Potter’s mouth hung open gormlessly, like he’d been petrified. At last he said, “You’re not _really_ the Heir of Slytherin, are you?”

“Of course not,” Draco said. “I’m not the one who speaks Parseltongue.”

Potter frowned. “I’m not the one who hates Muggle-borns.”

Draco opened his mouth to form an automatic denial, but caught himself before the words could escape. Did he? He didn’t want people to think he hated them. M… Muggle-borns. People like Justin. Of course he hated them, though, didn’t he?

 _Oh, Merlin_ , Draco thought, _they were wrong. I’m_ already _a blood traitor_.

Gritting his teeth, Draco said, “Sorry for telling everyone you were the Heir of Slytherin.”

“If you hadn’t, someone else would have,” Potter said darkly. “At least you were stupid enough that you’d already taken some of the heat off me.”

Draco breathed out. “Yeah. That was stupid.”

“You know, I always thought you were a real prick,” Potter said. “But I… guess you know how it feels when everyone expects one thing of you, and you’re not…” He trailed off, frustrated; he didn’t seem to know what he was getting at.

“I still think you’re a prick,” Draco said, to break the silence, “since you were sorted into Gryffindor, the _prick_ house.”

Potter laughed, shocked. Draco pulled a face at him. What did he expect?

“Uh, I’d better be going,” Potter said. He smiled cautiously, and started off ahead of Draco.

“That’s no skin off my back,” Draco called after him, and Potter laughed.

Alright, so they were—not exactly allies, but not enemies either. Still, Draco didn’t want to be weird and follow Potter, even though he’d been going that way first. He turned and doubled back, but instead of heading for the Hufflepuff quarters, he made his way to the Hospital Wing.

* * *

If Draco had been on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, he would’ve been upset that their match against Gryffindor was cancelled because he wanted nothing more than to beat Gryffindor into the dirt. As it was, he was upset that the match was cancelled because it meant he didn’t have the whole common room to himself, and the dorm too.

Oh, and Potter’s bushy-haired friend had been petrified. Her and a Ravenclaw Prefect. What a stupid reason to cancel Quidditch. Did they think Potter would be too busy crying to play? If anything, it would’ve made Gryffindor easier to beat.

At least Zacharias wasn’t in the common room. The mood was sombre; Draco wasn’t sure if it was about Quidditch or about the attacks on Muggle-borns. The rest second years were sitting around talking together—it was the first time Draco and Susan had spoken since he’d cut off Zacharias, and her by extension—but with Justin’s prominent absence, it didn’t feel like unity just yet.

Susan pulled him aside, and nobody seemed to notice. “Are you ready to stop sulking yet?”

“I’m not sulking,” Draco said automatically.

“Yes, you are,” Susan said. “You’d really rather have people think you’re petrifying all these people than talk to Zach and I? Are you really still angry that he got onto the team and you didn’t?”

Draco deflated a little. “You don’t understand. There’s nothing for me here. Quidditch was all I had. I wanted… I wanted a reason to like being in Hufflepuff.” He adjusted his scarf. “Another reason. Anyway, the point is, I’m not on the team, so, frankly, I’m having a shit time.”

“No, Draco,” Susan said, “you’re having a shit time because you’ve been sulking and ignoring your best friends.” She paused. “Anyway, does Zach know that?”

“Does he know what?”

“That Quidditch meant so much to you?”

Draco couldn’t answer that. Had they ever really talked about it? All he remembered was telling Zach that he was stupid for thinking he could be a professional Quidditch player.

“He’s flying around the lawns,” Susan said. “You should go join him.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Draco said.

But she was right. Draco returned Susan’s knowing smile with a scowl, before running up to the dorm to get out his Nimbus 2000. It had been gathering dust under his bed for too long.

Zacharias was flying low, circling above the lawns but never going too far out; they must have fortified the boundary spells since Draco’s escape attempt. Draco mounted his Nimbus and kicked off. He didn’t get too close. Just hovered a little bit away until Zacharias noticed him.

“Come here to gloat on your fancy broom?” Zacharias said.

“That time we talked,” Draco said, “over the holidays, you said you hate your family because they wanted you to be in Hufflepuff.” He scrunched his face up, trying to think how to ask: “What in Merlin’s name does that mean?”

“You’re still thinking about that?”

“Well you know all about why my family hates that _I’m_ in Hufflepuff,” Draco said, annoyed. He almost had to shout to be heard over the wind. “I think it’s only fair that I know why you hate it that your family wants you here.”

Zacharias laughed, loud and sharp. “I’m the heir!”

“I don’t believe you,” Draco said. “ _You’re_ the Heir of Slytherin?”

“The Heir of Hufflepuff,” Zacharias said. Now he was not laughing. The look on his face could have melted a candle. “I’m her oldest direct descendent of my generation.”

Draco’s mouth hung open, catching the wind. He didn’t think he’d ever understood jealousy before this moment. Now it made sense.

“We’re not one of those families, like the Macmillans, who’ve been in Hufflepuff since time immemorial,” Zacharias went on. “My father was in Ravenclaw. His aunt was in Slytherin. But when one of us _does_ end up in Hufflepuff, everyone makes a big deal out of it. It’s embarrassing”

Draco found his voice at last: “But it _is_ a big deal!”

Zacharias went still, hovering on the spot; Draco stopped to join him. “We are very different people, Draco. You know I didn’t write home to tell my family where I’d been sorted for a month? My grandfather threatened me with a Howler, and I decided I’d rather be humiliated by my family than in front of the whole school.”

“I just don’t understand,” Draco said. “Having a history like that is something to be proud of.”

“Maybe if you’re an arse-kisser pureblood. My mother’s a muggle. My father doesn’t give a damn about the politics, but he can’t keep his family out of our lives…” Zacharias sighed. “The only good part about being in Hufflepuff is that I’m on the Quidditch team.”

“Oh,” Draco said.

It made sense now. Even if he couldn’t understand why Zacharias hated his family’s heritage so much, Zacharias had a good reason for needing Quidditch in his life, just like Draco did. And it didn’t matter if Draco thought his reasons were more important (he did), and should’ve taken priority (they should’ve). He knew Zacharias would feel exactly the same if their positions were switched.

“I’d like it better if you were on the team with me.” Zacharias half-smiled, but he swiftly ruined the moment: “Remember when you flew into the Whomping Willow? Now _that_ was impressive.”

Draco jerked his broom away. “So you admit I’m the better flier?”

“You might be,” Zacharias said, hot on his tail, “but I’m the better player.”

“You’re the bigger arsehole,” Draco said. “I bet the only reason you’re any good at scoring is because you swear at the Keeper.”

“Are you mad at me because I can say _fuck_ and you can’t?”

“I could say fuck if I wanted to,” Draco said haughtily.

Unexpectedly, Zacharias came zooming at him. Draco lunged forward, and then they were racing, weaving around each other until both of them came down to the grass, tumbling off their brooms beside each other, laughing.

Lying on his back, Draco held his broom up over his head, watching as it caught the sunlight.

“Maybe you’d be a better flier if you weren’t borrowing a school broom,” he said—one last, half-hearted taunt.

Zacharias sighed. “Father won’t spend his money on unnecessary things. If I get good marks this year, he’s going to buy me a Nimbus over summer.”

Draco couldn’t understand that either. The Smiths were a good family, but they couldn’t just buy whatever they wanted? They didn’t think brooms were necessary? Maybe Zacharias was always going to be a mystery to him. But they were talking again. That was a good start.

He rolled over, and thrust his broom at Zacharias. “Want to try it out?”

* * *

All of the second year Hufflepuffs were clustered outside the Hospital Wing, with the exception of Justin, who was inside it, and presumably he would be with them soon. The news had spread that Professor Sprout’s mandrakes were ready, and the mandrake juice would then go into a potion, and the potion would wake the petrified students.

“They’re not going to let all of us in there,” Megan said pragmatically.

Ernie puffed out his cheeks and said, “They can ruddy well try and stop us!”

Draco was about to volunteer to stay outside, but Susan elbowed him like she could read his mind. And Susan was usually right about this sort of thing. But Megan was probably right too—they weren’t the only people waiting there. Potter and Weasley were standing at the other wall, along with a group of Ravenclaw girls.

When the doors opened, Madam Pomfrey said, “Please, not all at once…”

She was no match, though, for a flood of determined thirteen year olds. Draco might have held back, but Susan had him by the wrist. They stampeded in, and straight to the bed by the far window. The screen had been pulled all the way back, and Justin was sitting up against a sturdy pillow, clutching a bar of chocolate.

He was fine. Draco hadn’t been worrying, except—he had. All the tension began to drain from his bones.

“We’re so happy you’re back, Justin!” Hannah said, jumping onto the end of the bed.

Justin shuffled his feet up to make room for her. His voice was hoarse when he spoke: “You all came!”

“Of course,” Ernie said. “We have so much to tell you—”

“Actually, you didn’t miss much,” Zacharias said, speaking over him. “Quidditch was cancelled, so there’s nothing to talk about.”

Draco kicked Zacharias in the shin. Justin very kindly pretended not to notice.

“What I really want to know,” Justin said, still not quite looking at Draco, “is who’s the Heir of Slytherin? Madam Pomfrey said I was petrified by a Basilisk, but that couldn’t have written those notes…”

Zacharias began, “Didn’t you hear it was—”

“It wasn’t me!” Draco said. Even though he had already told Justin as much. “It wasn’t Potter either. Nobody actually knows who did it.”

Justin turned to him at last. “I knew it wasn’t you. Do you think I’m dumb, Draco?”

Draco remembered sitting in the chair beside this bed, which Wayne had now claimed. He remembered the way his eyes stung with tears when he thought about how, in another life, he could have been that person, and he would’ve done it happily. But knowing he _wasn’t_ —that was nothing to cry over.

“Well, you were out for _months_ ,” Draco said, laughing. “A lot has happened since.”

“Exactly!” Ernie said. “Now where will I begin…”

Draco shrunk to the back of the group while everyone caught up with Justin. They were talking about how they’d visited him, and Draco wasn’t ready to own up to that, not quite yet. Even Susan and Zacharias said they’d gone. Justin could probably make an educated guess.

While Ernie was explaining their last Transfiguration assignment in excruciating detail, Draco slipped away, and out of the Hospital Wing. He hadn’t fixed everything yet: he still felt weird and out of place around the other Hufflepuffs, let alone Justin.

At the end of the day, Draco supposed, he was always going to need some time alone.

Except he didn’t get that this time. Because while he was walking through the corridors, he saw his father. At first Draco thought he was an apparition. Lucius looked just as shocked. He looked like he’d just had a fall; his robes were scuffed and his hair was out of order.

“Father?” Draco said. “What are you doing here?”

His father brushed down the front of his robes. “I was speaking to your Headmaster in my capacity as a governor of Hogwarts.”

Draco hadn’t been paying attention when the Headmaster left. He had much more important things to worry about, like his dismal social life. It didn’t surprise him that Dumbledore had returned without his notice, too.

“And how,” his father said, his voice strained, “have you been?”

“Er, fine,” Draco said. A little boldly, he added, “One of my housemates was un-petrified today.”

“A mudblood?”

Draco caught himself before he could flinch. “Yes.”

His father raised an eyebrow, amused. “My, it must have been a very boring year, if this is the highlight of your day.”

“Of course it’s boring,” Draco said, like reflex. “I’m stuck in—”

He snapped his mouth shut. No, he wasn’t stuck there. It didn’t matter if he lied to his father, but Draco couldn’t lie to himself. He didn’t hate being a Hufflepuff. He hadn’t hated it for a long time now.

Draco’s father put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re making the best of the situation, son. I trust that you still know where your loyalties lie.”

“Of course,” Draco said again. There was a long, awkward silence. “I have to go.”

“Of course,” his father echoed.

Draco walked away, and then he turned a corner, and then he ran. That familiar stinging feeling around the eyes had returned. This time it went deeper: something fundamental had snapped inside of him. Draco couldn’t name it, but he knew what it meant.

He could no longer justify treating Muggle-borns any different to regular Wizards. There was a chasm between what he had been raised to believe and what he had come to realise, and it scared the life out of him.

Draco found the nearest toilets and locked himself inside a cubicle, and let himself cry.

* * *

The word on the wind was that Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a governor of Hogwarts. Of course Draco had to hear it through the rumour mill, not directly from his father himself. Draco was surprised to find that it didn’t sting like he’d thought it would. He knew what would happen this summer: he’d go home, he’d spend all his time flying or reading or studying in his room, he wouldn’t be able to connect with his father like he used to. He was numb to it now; maybe it’d hurt later. Either way, it would get easier to live like this.

It would have to.

Despite his resignation, Draco wasn’t excited to go home. He trailed behind Zacharias and Susan as they walked the length of the Hogwarts Express, looking for a carriage to themselves.

Draco saw Potter coming their way, and paused. “You two go ahead, he said.”

Zacharias and Susan looked at Draco like he’d gone mad, but they moved on. No point tarrying when the train was filling up fast.

When it was just him and Potter, Draco said, “So I guess we never found out who the Heir of Slytherin was…”

Potter swallowed. “Yeah, about that…”

“Was it you? Was it really you all along?” Draco had been fishing, and he was ecstatic to have caught something with his bait. “I knew it! Merlin’s beard, Potter—”

“No, no!” Potter grimaced. “Uh, I don’t know who it was. But I heard from Professor Dumbledore that—whoever it was, he won’t be able to open the Chamber of Secrets anymore.”

Draco got the feeling Potter knew more than he was letting on, but the train was beginning to move; now wasn’t the time. “Good,” he said. “I hope everyone just forgets about it.”

“Me too,” Potter said. He sounded tired.

“Well…”

“See you around?”

Draco shrugged, and pushed past Potter. He had to catch up with his friends. Before he could get to them, though, he ran into Justin.

“Oh, Draco! Do we have a carriage?” Justin rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I got sidetracked, I spent so long packing, and I was catching up on classes with Professor Sprout, I nearly missed the train, can you believe…” He trailed off. “Are you alright?”

“Just fine,” Draco said, though he didn’t know what if that was true. “And you look like you’ve recovered well enough.”

Justin shrugged, self-conscious. “It’s not like I can remember any of it.”

“No, I mean—” Draco struggled to get the words out. “I mean, if we play chess, and I absolutely destroy you—you look like you could take a few explosions.”

“Wizard’s Chess?” Justin grinned so wide it looked like it hurt. “You’re _on_ , Malfoy.”

Justin grabbed Draco by the elbow and pulled him down the corridor, knocking his suitcase against Draco’s ankles. Draco didn’t feel any compulsion to shake him off. They found the others in a carriage soon enough, and Ernie took out his chess set for Draco and Justin to use, as they settled in for the long journey.

Draco didn’t think about what he’d face at the other end of the train ride. For now, he was right where he wanted to be.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment, or come chat to me on [dreamwidth](https://necessarian.dreamwidth.org/)!


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